JT-51-AN ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN FAIR.

AN ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN FAIR.

My muse advent’rous, shall attempt to sing,
The pleasing prospect of the op’ning spring,
Shall dare to tempt Alcinda’s feet abroad,
To tread wide nature in her flow’ry road.
When cooling zephyrs fan the flow’ry way,
And twitt’ring, birds their vernal gambols play,
When meads are green and fields are deck’d with flow’rs,
Then spend the transports of some cooling hours.
Regale your eyes o’er all the landscape wide,
And count the brooks that round her margin glide--
Go view the rills that gently play along,
What rising glories to the grass belong!

Ascend the mound, and seek the cooling shade,
And view the wonders which your God has made,
’Tis hence you see the mountain’s lofty brow,
And hills far distant interpers’d below;
Disorder seems to spread itself around,
But skill divine in matchless beauty’s found.
The rising poplar in the expanding green,
And humble glories deck the op’ning scene,
Behind you vista see the village there,
Where swains are toiling for their worldly care.
See rural mansions rising round the grove,
And harmless herds in wanton pleasures rove;
The drifted smoke descends along the vale,
And seems to mourn where absent lovers fail!
Thine eye beholds the distant river roll,
Thou hear’st her murm’ring o’er the rocky shoal;
Her winding channel bends along the land,
And opens where the smoky hamlets stand;
Perhaps she pours a copious tide away,
Amid the vale she makes a long delay,
And forms those banks where wand’ring lovers go
To vent their sorrow, and to weep their woe.

The distant bells sound faintly to the ear,
Or you the lowing herds at distance hear;
The milk-maid wanders o’er the passing way,
Hies home her cattle in their roving play.

The rustics now lay down their tools awhile,
And homeward walk to cease from dusty toil,
They whistle forth their notes of comic glee,
And seek the cot of loving wife, to see
The babes and wife with sweet ecstatic charms,
Now meet the rustic with extended arms!
Far o’er the hill is tun’d a mournful lay,
Where lovers with the flute or spinet play.

O! hear the birds sweet singing to their loves,
Thro’ all the green, thro’ all the vocal groves
Their varied notes, their trilling anthems run,
And mournful most when low the ev’ning sun;
Some sing aloud, ambitious to be known,
And others plaintive scarcely not their own--
Some strike a note to chant a partner’s theme,
Some mourn in absence, and to weep they seem,
In lonesome woods amid the growing glooms,
A songstress sweet, her sweetest notes assumes,
Philoma sings and lulls them all to sleep,
And while they rest she can’t forbear to weep;
She chants the grove, delightful is her lay,
She soothes the lover in his midnight way.
Thou hear’st the dove, a sweet and mournful song,
A plaintive note, a note of something wrong;
The lay is solemn, and the note sincere,
Her mate seems absent and can never hear--
She coos, she calls, expostulates the groves,
To give to her the absent one she loves;
At eve’s approach, she haunts the lonesome tree,
To call her love, and hopes her love to see--
Then bends her head, and covers o’er her wing,
She sleeps in silence, and no more can sing.

Look down the vale, the rising lily see,
There beauty flows in full variety,
Her modest stature decorates the green,
No spot, nor wrinkle, in her bloom is seen.
A modest form behold! without pretence,
Like virtuous maids in harmless innocence.

Behold the flow’rs expand in living bloom,
Display their glory, and their grace assume;
Their varied hues in rising beauties glow,
In fields extensive, and in vales below.
Some rise in blue, and some are tinged with gold,
And numerous shades in modest pride unfold.
No mimic art, nor toilsome hand, has plac’d
Their beauteous order--all by nature grac’d;
Their careless form displays more beauty there,
Than prudes could show with all their finic care.
Behold them tremble as the zephyrs move,
Inhale their fragrance, and their odors prove;
The sweet perfume that passes thro’ the air,
Must give delight, and quell the rising care.
Now see the blushes in the orchards spread,
Where lovely nymphs in vernal seasons tread,
Their mingling graces and their beauties rise,
To charm the soul and captivate the eyes;
The fanning breezes lull the swain asleep,
And softly o’er the swelling bosom creep;
They drive the perspirating heat away,
And chant thy voice to join creation’s lay.

Contemplate now on what thy walk may teach,
Let vocal woods thy tender passions reach;
Let brooks and rills and mountains, meads, and flow’rs,
Now preach thee wisdom, and refine thy pow’rs.
Remember long what various notes were sung,
What diff’rent meanings in their anthems rung;
The merry warblers sang their lays along,
And tun’d their pleasure to the busy throng,
But evening shades o’er all the valleys spread,
And struck their music and their pleasures dead.
So wanton youth who sport on fortune’s boon,
In pride and pleasure spend their vernal noon;
Their theme delightful, seems to charm the ear,
While care is fled and all distressful fear;
But hoary age destroys their empty mirth,
Their day grows dim, their joys of little worth;
Their sun declines and brings sad darkness on,
Long silence reigns and all their pleasures gone!

The fainting sun reclines beyond thy sight,
E’er shadows roll their darkness into night
Thy walk resume, and find the homeward way,
And ne’er forget creation’s vocal lay.
As ye advance, let converse cheer the mind,
With morals wise, and sentiments refin’d;
Walk slowly on, and keep the house in view,
And talk of wonders which are ever new;
Ensnare thy courtier with the skill of thought,
Let heav’n and earth be in thy subject bro’t.
Rehearse the beauties that on earth extend,
Their place, their use, their various orders blend;
Talk oceans rivers, mountains, kingdoms o’er,
Forests, fields, and all the distant shore;
Let nations, empires and their arts be told,
Their pride and grandeur, and their feasts of old.
On nature dwell, and in thy accents know
What grades subservient crawl the earth below;
The lion yonder roars his anger round,
While distant herds stand trembling at the sound;
There burden’d camels rove the desert sand,
And here, the horse submissive ploughs the land;
The scaly nations swimming in the sea,
The plumy birds, and the industrious bee,
And insects too, that meanly crawl the earth,
Of honor less, and less of real worth,
Should serve for thee in conversation’s strain,
And thus is man a complicated train.
E’er daylight’s gone return, and near the door
Converse more freely than thou didst before--
Near to the house when summer’s grass is green,
When shining stars and brighter moon are seen,
There sit awhile, thy social moments spend,
And round the skies thy copious thoughts extend.
While sprinkling dews revive the drooping rose,
And murm’ring zephyrs wake their short repose,
And waft perfume along the passing air,
Let pleasure pass in conversation there.
Thy rosy cheeks with modest grace shall shine,
As virtue, knowledge, and good sense are thine;
With mind inform’d let rapt’rous visions fly,
And trace the wonders of the boundless sky.

Compare those orbs that rove expansive space,
To youthful lovers in their wonted race;
Some glow with light, and shine effulgence near,
But soon withdraw--their glories disappear!
They soon perform their rapid flight in air,
And leave the horizon in dark despair;
The vulgar eye, once dazzled with the train,
Now meets the dark and looks for light in vain!
Some far remote with less resplendence glow,
But constant honors from their orbits flow;
As they advance their fair ether’al race,
They shine in glory and increase in grace;
Their midnight luster dwells upon the sight,
And cheers the horrors of the sable night;
They move in grandeur o’er our beggar’d world,
While blazing comets are in ether hurl’d.

So men and manners differ in degree,
They show their parts, but in their parts we see
Some shine in grace and grandeur not their own,
For grace and grandeur they have never known;
Their bows are borrow’d, and their language too
They glow and dazzle only while they’re new.

Tho’ gaudy plumes bedeck the coxcomb race,
A short acquaintance brings them to disgrace!
The men of virtue shine in virtue’s dress,
They glory not in dross--in tinsel less;
Their minds a store house, only known to few,
Their worth intrinsic, and their friendship true;
Behold them in their native luster bright,
Reflect resplendence and increase in light;
Their hearts are warm, their faithful hearts declare,
Their pure intentions to solace the fair.
Such men can bless the charmer of their hearts,
Their fix’d affection never once departs;
Their flame of virtue ever shall remain,
While fops and beaux may show their parts in vain.

A man of manners, and a man of worth,
Has estimated all the things of earth;
With balance justly, he has weighed them all,
And down, like trifles, he has seen them fall;
He’s not content with mere external things,
From deeper mines he knows true pleasure springs.
A mind serene, an upright soul he knows,
Can only triumph over human woes;
His soul pacific, like a tranquil bay,
He lived last year as he would live to-day;
The path of riot he has seldom trod,
He learns his duty in the Book of God--
The happy nymph who weds a man like this,
Shall find her days replete with purest bliss.
A theme untouched must yet belong to you,
In strains sublime I would the theme pursue--
Ne’er let those hearts that round thy heart entwine,
Presume you never learn’d a thought divine;
Extend your thoughts, let holy visions run,
And catch new fire from the eternal throne.

Now trace all nature to the great first cause,
And tell the use of his immortal laws--
His potent word produc’d the spacious seas,
His power controls all nature as he please;
His wond’rous skill brought forth the race of man,
And bound in golden chains the social plan;
The bond of union both the sexes join’d,
And Hymen’s mystic ties link’d mind to mind!
God feeds, supports, preserves the human race,
And condescends to visit them with grace;
With liberal hand compassionates the poor,
A Savior comes, the sinner to restore;
His boundless love pervades his vast domain,
Would woo the soul when joys eternal reign.
We read in words, by inspiration giv’n,
Our never-fading crown laid up in heav’n.

Extend your thoughts, and let your thought arise,
And meditate the bounty of the skies;
Behold yourself a creature of a day,
Perhaps in angel now debased in clay,
And, O! that clay so wonderfully wrought,
By God created and by Jesus bought!
That handsome form, that animated frame,
The pow’r and wisdom of your God proclaim;
Remains dependent on his bounteous hand,
For all the blessings which you now command.
His great compassion and preserving care,
Should woo thy soul to penitential pray’r.

Think not a prayer in exercise too low,
Nor blush when silent tears repentant flow;
The ground of prayer is sacred to the good,
There Ab’ram, Moses and the prophets stood.
Immortal women on that holy ground,
Obtained a blessing and a Savior found;
That is the place where mortal worms receive
The stamp of fame, with their Creator live;
The soul exalts, becomes unfeign’d, upright,
Prepares to tread the golden walks of light.

Alcinda, try to make your tomb the skies,
And write your epitaph that ever dies!
Make one your friend who never will betray,
Nor leave you sad in the distressing day--
Give him your hand, and not your heart withhold,
Who decks the bridal day with crowns of gold!
Traverse with him, wherever he may go,
Nor once forsake his great commands below;
He’ll dress you o’er in garments white and clean,
Nor spot, nor wrinkle, nor a fault be seen,
In pious virtues and in Christian grace,
Thy life shall shine amidst thy kindred race;
No pious soul but would rejoice to see,
Those blissful graces center all in thee.
No loss of honor--these thy life sustain,
For now thy glory and thy wealth remain.
No disappointments call distress thy mind,
For grace commands thee here to be resign’d.

The weaker vessel now shall pass along,
Triumphant sail amid a pirate throng;
No boist’rous surge shall plunge her in the deep,
Nor dang’rous quicksands give her cause to weep--
Her sails expanded, and her port in view--
Her acclamations, and her hopes renew;
She weighs her anchor, and her perils cease,
She gains the shores of everlasting peace,
Where troubles end in lands of sweet repose,
Beholds with pleasure bow she ’scap’d her woes;
She sees her treasure, as she gains the prize,
And sings her blissful fortune in the skies.

Is this Alcinda? Will she hear my song?
To her the strains of Poesy belong.
The gifts of nature and of grace combine,
To make her virtue and her beauty shine;
While thus adorn’d, I’ll sing her worthy name,
And hope high heaven will record her fame.